A Case of Belonging
by Ebyru
Summary: Dean finds Castiel's bus, and won't let him escape again. Not without telling him something.


**A/N:** un-betad; feel free to tell me where the mistakes are.  
this is just a little something that was requested by signingpineapple on tumblr, who said this: "_Can you do a SPN (Destiel) one where they find out each other's feeling so they go at it like rabid dogs? :3_"

It turned out a lot more fluffy, tbh. Sorry 'bout that.

Spoilers for season 8 (and perhaps others).

* * *

The bus turning down the street is called _Straight_ _to Heaven_, and he knows it's a sign. Castiel is going to be on that bus; Sam is going to have to wait a bit longer for supper tonight if Dean's right.

It parks next to a gift shop, and Dean shifts the Impala into park right across the street. People shuffle out of the bus, the driver following. And, lo and behold, not far behind them comes Castiel hiding the tablet under his coat.

Castiel spots Dean easily, but he doesn't fly away; he can't without signaling anyone else to where he is. Instead of walking away, making Dean run after him like some corny rom-com – which they're not in, by the way – Castiel walks right up to the Impala.

"Hello, Dean," he says softly. "You seem well."

"Can't say the same about you, man," says Dean, frowning. "Do you need a ride?"

Castiel looks like he's been through the wringer: his eyes are dark from lack of rest, his coat is wrinkled and stained from burger condiments, and he has something sticky in his hair.

Silence is a specialty of his, and he seems to think better of Dean's offer, but he rounds the car all the same. "I cannot give you the tablet, regardless of how much I trust you."

"I got that when you disappeared halfway across the country," Dean snaps, feeling the bitter aftertaste of what happened weeks ago. Castiel straps himself in. "Is that in case we get into an accident?"

"I can't use my powers as often as I once had. If we were to collide with another vehicle, I'd need to focus on your injuries. Not my own," he says dryly, looking out the window.

Dean scoffs, taking them down quieter streets in case their combined presences attract attention from Crowley or worse - Heaven. "I don't care if God comes down here himself. If you're bleeding out, I want you to take care of yourself, Cas."

Castiel glances at Dean, a quiet sadness on his face that reminds Dean too much of that broken angel by the water in Purgatory.

"I thought you knew that I needed you," Dean says. "I've said it enough times."

Nodding, Castiel slowly reaches towards Dean. He places a hand on his knee, smiling when Dean looks over at him. "I appreciate you admitting that. I know it would have been harder for you in the past." He clears his throat, squeezing Dean's knee when Dean looks away. "You are very important as well. And not just to Heaven, but for me."

Dean nearly swerves into the wrong lane when Castiel's hand slides a bit too high on his leg. "Whoa, Cas. I think you need to ease up unless you want us both to die."

"My apologies," he mumbles, taking his hand and the warmth with it. He peers around the stretch of road; no people in sight, no cars for a mile at least, just trees and a clear, blue sky. "Are we going to meet Sam?"

"I, uh, wanted to talk actually," mutters Dean, wrapping his hands tighter around the steering wheel. "Do you have to go right away?"

Castiel watches Dean for a few moments, eyes darting from his fidgety hands to the stiffness of his shoulders. No, he will always have a moment for Dean. The man he found and remade, over and over, giving him pieces of his grace on each occasion. "No," he replies simply.

As Dean pulls into the treeline, hiding them from oncoming traffic, Castiel unbuckles his seatbelt and waits. Dean leans his head against the steering wheel, taking in a deep breath. The wind rustles outside of their open windows, warming and cooling their skin simultaneously. Castiel places a hand on Dean's shoulder, prompting him to speak.

"What if…what if I trust you this time?" he says, talking down at his feet rather than at Castiel. "What if I don't interfere with the tablet? Will you stay?" He looks up slowly, head tilted and brows creased. "Sam is not doing so great. And I really need someone around to help me deal with it."

Castiel swallows, his fingers already loosening on the tablet. "You would like me to ensure he survives the final trial?"

Dean shakes his head. "It's not just that, Cas." He licks his lips, gaze darting to Castiel's mouth when he frowns. "I realized something this year, something I didn't want to see before."

The tablet is on Castiel's lap now, in full view and vulnerable should Dean choose to take it. "And what is that?"

"I think I'm in love with you," says Dean, no louder than if he were wishing on a shooting star, or praying to someone he can't see.

"_Dean_," says Castiel, his voice shaky like Dean hasn't heard since the apocalypse.

For a moment, Dean thinks it's a rejection; that Castiel is too foreign to want to be with him like this. But chapped lips are against his the next second, Castiel's tongue swiping against Dean's lips reverently, begging for this to be reality. And it should be funny that they're both so messed up they can't believe it's happening. But it's just…hot.

It doesn't take long for Dean to want to show Castiel how true this is. He drags him into his lap, prying the coat away, pushing the shirts aside, and leaving the tie to hang over his back. His mouth latches on to a pebbled nipple, and he murmurs into the warmth and scars found on his chest, "Do you know how many times I've dreamt of doing this?"

"Why did you not do it sooner, then?" Castiel says, his head thrown back in pleasure.

"Didn't know I could," Dean admits, biting down on the skin below Castiel's navel. "Lift your hips."

Castiel is pliant and very flexible in Dean's lap. The pants open easily, but there's no room to slide it off all the way so Dean can enjoy naked skin. He settles for wetting the palm of his hand, and dragging his calloused fingers up and down the length that throbs and thrums against his fingers. Whimpering, Castiel drags blunt fingernails against Dean's scalp, licking into his mouth with fervour and devotion. "Please," he says, "please."

"I know how good it feels," Dean whispers, rolling his tongue inside Castiel's mouth, grateful that he can have even this much. For once, his own pleasure is in the back seat.

Castiel's hips buck wildly when Dean begins leaving marks all down Castiel's neck, biting and sucking, and owning him in the most human way. He squeezes Dean's shoulders, grinding into the hand wrapped around his cock, pressing in for more, and tangling his fingers in Dean's hair.

Leaning in close to Castiel's ear, Dean whispers all he's never bothered to say. "You're perfect, you know that? You taste and smell like the best meal I've ever had. Every time you leave, I feel like I can't breathe. And every time you come back to me, I feel like I'm finally home again."

Castiel whimpers, "Dean, please. It is too much."

"You've always been what I needed," Dean whispers, pressing the gentlest kiss on the angel's temple. "I wish I would have realized sooner."

And it's too much; Castiel is crying out, his eyes clenched so tight that Dean winces in sympathy, hoping he hasn't pushed too far.

"Close your eyes," shouts Castiel.

Dean barely understands in time, snapping his eyes shut and burying his face against Castiel's chest. He feels like he's being dragged away by a gust of wind; a flood of gold light and a beam of tender heat forcing him to hold his breath against the current. When it settles, like dust particles falling gracefully down to the ground, his hand is covered in slick. Castiel hums softly in Enochian, a handprint once again on Dean's arm.

When they come for the tablet, at least Castiel won't be alone.


End file.
